


Tell Me That You're Mine

by looselips



Series: peterick one shots [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, One Shot, Post-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Sleepy Cuddles, the fact that thats a tag makes me happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looselips/pseuds/looselips
Summary: Patrick chuckles at that. It’s an almost painfully fond sound, one that tugs hard at the very core of Pete’s being and warms him up from the inside out, like peppermint hot chocolate or fuzzy, woolen sweaters. It’s love embodied, in a way that’s oddly comforting.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: peterick one shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847362
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Tell Me That You're Mine

**Author's Note:**

> me: i'm gonna take a full day break from writing and just chill  
> [cupid by ryan beatty:](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNT413T8rvo&ab_channel=RyanBeatty-Topic) comes on shuffle  
> me: god fucking damn it
> 
> i pictured like early post-hiatus in my head for this ?? i'm not rly sure why thats just the vibe it gave me. if u ignore the hannibal reference u can basically picture this w/ whatever era you want, though

“Are you fallin’ asleep on me, Wentz?”

 _It’s hard not to, you feel like home,_ Pete thinks, but he doesn’t let it leave his lips. That’s a little more honest than the rules allow for.

“Nah, no way,” he says instead, with his eyes still closed and his cheek still pressed gentle but solid against the broad expanse of Patrick’s chest, cheekbone hitting the cartilage around Patrick’s sternum. The way his face is squished muffles his words a bit, but they’re close enough that it hardly matters.

He feels Patrick give an amused huff out his nose, that hand he’s got raked through Pete’s hair pausing for just a millisecond, before going back to its task of swirling one delicate finger around a single damp curl.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” Patrick starts, and Pete can _hear_ his grin, can hear the loving tease wrapped around his tone. “I can literally feel your heartbeat slowing down.”

Despite himself, Pete can’t help the tired smile that starts to stretch across his face. “Why’re you paying such close attention to my heartbeat, dude?” He says, delivery slow, “That’s-- That’s kinda serial killer-y.”

Patrick chuckles at that. It’s an almost painfully fond sound, one that tugs hard at the very core of Pete’s being and warms him up from the inside out, like peppermint hot chocolate or fuzzy, woolen sweaters. It’s love embodied, in a way that’s oddly comforting.

“Oh yeah, you caught me,” Patrick says, “That was my plan all along, get you super sleepy and then steal all your organs.”

Pete hums. “I knew it. You gonna eat ‘em _Hannibal_ style, or just sell ‘em?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I think I’ll just sell ‘em. I can’t cook for shit.”

Pete _wants_ to argue that he knows firsthand just how much of a _lie_ that is and that, out of the two of them, Patrick’s ten-times more capable of whipping up things that don’t taste and look like an affront to God -- Pete will never live down chicken nugget ramen -- but as it stands, his brains sort of starting to leak out his ears a bit. He can feel himself starting to blip into that floaty space between conscious and not, between sleep and wake.

So, instead he just relaxes into the feeling, letting himself sink a little further into Patrick’s side. “It's probably for the best,” he mumbles, “My organs have been through a lot, they wouldn’t be very tasty.”

He swears he hears Patrick say something under his breath, something that sounds a whole lot like _dork_ , but he can’t be bothered to follow up on it.

They fade into quiet after that, the noise of the afternoon outside starting to bleed in, cars around them making themselves known. It’s pleasantly ambient, accompanied by the soft murmur of the road and the occasional _tap tap_ sound of Patrick liking something or replying to someone from his phone, which he’s scrolling away on with his other hand. Pete’s not bothered by the fact that he hasn’t got Patrick’s undivided attention -- he’s known him for long enough to know that, sometimes, even _Patrick_ can’t get Patrick’s undivided attention. He’s always doing no less than three things at once just for the sake of comfort, and Pete’s never minded; it’s just as perfectly endearing as everything else about him.

The seconds start to bleed together, minutes melting and pooling into what feels like hours, and Pete’s certain he’s about a half-step away from the entry gates to Dreamland when he hears and feels an inhale.

“Pete?”

Patrick’s voice is soft, a mere hare’s breath above a whisper, like he’s trying to prod as gentle as possible. Pete physically _cannot_ muster up the energy to respond.

Seemingly satisfied with silence as its own answer, he feels Patrick start to draw his hand back, deliberately very, _very_ slow in the movement, and then wrap an arm around him, protective. There’s a distinctly deep rise and fall of Patrick’s chest afterwards, like he’s contemplating something.

Pete feels him shift, ever so slightly, and--

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

The ending pet-name registers before the rest of it.

Patrick presses a soft kiss to the top of Pete’s head, almost like punctuation for the sentence and it’s all _gloriously_ tender, a secret little moment in time that Pete wasn’t supposed to be privy to. It courses through him like love-arrow lightning as he lets himself finally slip into the void behind his eyelids.

He wakes up approximately two hours later with a hand nestled back against his scalp. He’s greeted with a gentle, _‘welcome back to the world, sleepyhead. We’re in Kentucky,’_ Patrick’s voice hanging low in his chest like he might’ve fallen asleep at some point himself, but Pete can’t focus on it the way he usually would. His mind’s still pounding with the memory of what he’d heard before the lights went out.

_Baby._

Patrick called him _baby._

**Author's Note:**

> i will truly never get Less scared of posting fic huh
> 
> if u liked my dumb little thing i wrote at 6 in the morning, feel free to let me know on [tumblr!](https://lionpaws.tumblr.com/) i finally figured out how to link shit!!!!


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